


Taranto

by somegunemojis



Series: Tender Mercies [10]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Less Expensive Than Therapy, M/M, Making Plans To Meet The Family. No Homo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26302468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somegunemojis/pseuds/somegunemojis
Summary: It's been a long time since someone has wanted him to meet their parents, but Alessio has already proven that he's not like anyone he's ever met before.
Relationships: Bettino Tahan/Alessio Rossi
Series: Tender Mercies [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893175





	Taranto

April, 2010 -- [LOCATION REDACTED]

The cot they’re settled on isn’t really built to hold two people. Alessio Rossi seems unconcerned by this fact, picking away at his slightly out of tune guitar almost absently, the occasional hum escaping him. Tahan is flat on his back, booted feet hanging over the edge, the top of his head just brushing the other man’s hip. Flipping through sketches he’d finished-- some of them are of Alia, whom he hasn’t seen in three years. Some of them are of Rossi, some of Bianchi and his wife, some of strangers, some are intricate designs he’s copied down from murals he’s seen, some are occasional jotted notes. Coordinates. Times. Locations. His entire life of late in snapshots and sketches. 

Rossi strums one more note on the guitar, and then cuts it short, putting his hand over the strings to still them. The silence seems to ring in Tahan’s ears, the quiet air of their shared space almost oppressive. Tahan waits, because he knows Rossi has something to say-- probably something that’s been eating at him for hours or even days. He closes his sketchbook and settles it on his chest, staring at Rossi’s elbow until he twists around to look him in the face. 

“Do you ever--” He cuts himself off, brows furrowed. Tahan watches him quietly, unused to the younger man’s tentative approach. They’ve known each other for a few months. It feels like years. “Do you ever miss your parents?”

Tahan’s face flickers for a moment, a quiet longing shifting into subtle surprise. “Mine are both dead.” Long dead, a little over five years. Buried in Verona, in a cramped bet hayyim. Tahan hasn’t been back since he left. 

“I know. That’s not what I asked.” Rossi settles his long fingers against Tahan’s cheek, covering one eye, his touch feather-light before he pulls his hand away once more. “Do you miss them?”

His first instinct is to tell the kid to kiss his ass, to snap at him for asking him something personal. Then to dodge around, make a joke, ask him about his own family. But he looks almost frail in the light from the halogen lantern, and the wind is loud outside like it seeks to rip everything that they are apart, and Tahan knows that he’s afraid of something-- he can only hope that something isn’t him. 

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Rossi’s fingers dancing delicately over his brow bone reminds him a little bit of his mother, at least. How she’d always been quick to touch his face, pull him close, shower him in love. The kind of easy affection that’s been missing from his life for years, something he didn’t know he could miss at all until he was completely bereft of it. And he misses his father’s cooking, he supposes, especially compared to MREs and mess hall chow. The big belly laugh he would let out every time Tahan proved himself to have a troublesome streak. The pride they felt watching him grow. 

Sometimes it feels like that’s all he can remember of them. Then the darkness creeps back in-- his father’s body on the cold metal slab in the morgue, mutilated and unrecognizable. His mother, listless and silenced, wasting away in a chair by the window no matter how much he begged her to come back. “They were nice people.”

Rossi sighs heavily out his nose, his brows relaxing. “I know that, darling. They raised you, didn’t they?” He hits him gently on the cheek when Tahan snorts in response. “I’m asking because-- well, I miss my mother. And my siblings.” He seems almost ashamed to admit it, but Tahan is distracted by the way his finger feels trailing along the shell of his ear. 

“You have seven of them, don’t you?” He hums in agreement, and Tahan tries to picture him then, at five, at ten, at fifteen, the oldest of eight, trying to herd all of his siblings and helping his mother cook and learning to tell stories-- it’s shockingly easy. He wonders what Rossi can imagine of him, if it’s even half as flattering and idyllic.

“You should come with me to Taranto, next time we have leave together.” The invite is a little unexpected, if only because usually the only time anybody wants their family to meet someone from their special forces unit is when they want to scare the shit out of them, and Tahan makes a doubtful noise in the back of his throat. Rossi laughs, muffles it in the back of his hand. “No, I’m serious. My mother would love you. My brothers probably would not, but they have bad taste.” 

“Oh, and you don’t?” The wisecrack comes naturally to him, a tense topic turned into familiar and easy banter once more. Rossi doesn’t bother to muffle his laugh this time, and it shatters the almost uncomfortable stillness in the air between them with ease.

“Fine, fine. I’ll take that. My taste is terrible, but you should still come with me.” He shakes his head and pats Tahan on the chest, the palm of his hand hot, and the chains of his dog tags clink loudly. “Think about it: a home cooked meal, a chaotic house. I could show you the city-- and we could go cliff diving.” 

“Cliff diving.” The flatness of his voice does little to convey the breadth of his skepticism at the thought. He blinks up at Rossi, the white teeth settled in his warm smile. “Bene-- Taranto is hardly even a town, to me. Bet you could take me on a tour of it in less than an hour, the way you drive.” 

Rossi shoves at his shoulder with mock-offense, and it’s Tahan’s turn to laugh this time, something that rolls out of him easily. It eases a line of tension in Rossi’s shoulders that he hadn’t even noticed was there. “Yes, yes, fine. It’s a small town, and the way I drive I could show it to you in twenty minutes. And the cliffs aren’t that high. An easy way for you to impress the girls, no?” 

“Eh? I thought the only girls I was supposed to be impressing while I was there was your mother and your sisters--” he’s cut off when Rossi rolls him off the cot with an outraged yell, following him to the floor to try and playfully strangle him, his thighs on either side of Tahan’s hips. They wrestle and bicker like boys until the Sergeant comes by and yells at them to go the fuck to sleep.


End file.
